


alive

by victoriachase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desi Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, POC Harry Potter, Pillow Talk, Porn With Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriachase/pseuds/victoriachase
Summary: “Have you ever just, like, wanted someone so much, but not wanted to ruin what you already have with them?” Harry asked.





	alive

**Author's Note:**

> I say this is porn with plot but this is just another extremely self-indulgent 'I had an idea that I needed to get out of me before I could progress with any other fics' fic. This one, however, is hopefully a lot less miserable. Though this fic is the first complete fic I've written in a while, it's definitely not got much flow (sorry!) because most of the writing was just buildup to this one scene that's been stuck in my head for days. As usual, this hasn't really been proofread and is being written in the middle of the night, so there's likely to be a number of mistakes, all of which I'm responsible for. Having said that, I hope you enjoy this fic! :)

It was one of  _those_  nights, Harry thought to himself. He was staring down at his pint in a weak attempt to avoid staring at Malfoy. After being put together as partners when they had both first signed up to be Aurors, and subsequently dropping out at the same time, they had become fast friends. Much to everyone's (Hermione's) surprise, they hadn't managed to kill each other (yet) and Friday night drinks at whatever muggle pub their ever growing circle of friends decided to frequent that week became a key part of both of their weekly routines.

They were at The King’s Arms in muggle London, this week’s group consisting of the usuals: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Dean (and Malfoy, of course), and the newer additions of Pansy, Blaise, Millicent and Greg.

Harry didn’t mind that their little group was expanding over time, after all, putting the past behind him with Malfoy was one of the best decisions he’d ever made, so it stood to reason that doing the same with the rest of Malfoy’s housemates could go a long way.

It definitely wasn’t a mistake; over the weeks that Harry spent getting to know Malfoy’s friends, he began to realise how different his life could have been had he not asked the Sorting Hat to put him in Gryffindor. Maybe he would have tossed insults back and forth with Malfoy and Pansy or helped Greg look after his Kneazles.

Even Ron had agreed that pub nights on a Friday were fast becoming something for everyone to look forward to; despite the differences of their schooldays and the war, they had all finally achieved something that felt more like peace than the aftermath of Voldemort’s death that the Wizarding world had to suffer through.

Harry wasn’t sure at what point during his wallowing Hermione had come over to him, but he was grateful. He needed a distraction from both his thoughts, and from the sight of Malfoy’s head tossed back with laughter, his long neck exposed.

“Harry, you’ve been staring at your pint for ages,” Hermione said, “And don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed; if it hadn’t been for me deciding to come and speak to you, you’d be getting a pep talk from Pansy right now.”

Harry laughed – they both knew what Pansy was like after a couple of martinis.

“I’m fine, ‘mione, jus’ a bit distracted is all,” he offered, knowing full well his friend wouldn’t take that as an explanation at all. Still, he thought, it was worth a try.

Hermione frowned up at him, her dark eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten like this though,” she said, “Last week was the same at the Queen’s Head, and the week before that when you came round to mine and Ron’s. We’re not stupid you know, we’ve known you for almost ten years now, we can tell when you get in these moods.”

Harry frowned in return. He was sure he’d at least attempted to act like himself, but really he was slowly losing his sense of what that meant. Self. He _wasn’t_ himself, he was lost, a shell still trying to reform a memory of what had existed before the war. It had been three years and still, here he was. Hermione was right (though when _wasn’t_ she?), recently he had made less of an attempt to keep a lid on his moods. And Malfoy was to blame.

For the first few months after quitting the Auror force, just over a year after the end of the war, Harry was content living life as a rich, layabout bachelor. Partying with his friends, picking up girls in bars (picking up **guys** in bars too), refurbishing his immensely indulgent house, left to him by Sirius. He truly was living the life. But, it seemed, that ‘the life’ was better suited to the Malfoyesque types. Rich, pureblood wizards who’d never known a life other than that of luxury.

To make matters worse, his existential crisis hit round about the time that he and Malfoy had _really_ begun to hang out, getting almost as close as Harry was with Ron and Hermione. Maybe, in some respects, closer.

After all, Malfoy was one of the few people Harry knew who truly understood him. During the war they had both been pawns in larger games they really didn’t understand; though they were on different sides of the battle, they were both children being used by men too afraid to fight for themselves.

Malfoy also didn’t hide his thoughts from Harry. Ron and Hermione would share a soft nudged shoulder with each other, before taking several weeks  to build up to a conversation with Harry about how he was coping or if he was still seeing the last person to have slept over or whether his smoking habit was a good idea, and ‘do you _really_ need all those tattoos Harry?’, Malfoy would just say it straight to his face.

Harry felt a deep sense of comfort in the lack of sugar-coating he received from Malfoy. For too long his emotions had been tiptoed around, and he was more than appreciative of the chance to really _feel_ like a person again, something he disturbingly only seemed to experience fully when he was with Malfoy. Even Malfoy’s friends seemed to want to pull back the sharper bite Harry knew they were capable of using, in favour of carefully traded insults and bantering. It was almost too much.

Which is why Harry felt awful the first time he realised he was attracted to Malfoy.

Objectively, Harry knew that Malfoy was an attractive person, but knowing a fact and actually feeling the attraction was too different and too much.

Admittedly, it was at an awful time. It was the first time they had gone to a club together – he couldn’t remember the name of it if asked, but he knew Malfoy would be able to in a pinch, he had a real head for that stuff – and Harry had just bought the two of them tequila seltzers. It was a more adult drink than Harry was used to, finding more comfort in a pint of bitter than a cocktail, but he went along with it at Malfoy’s recommendation.

Malfoy had then proceeded to go to the dancefloor, claiming that a song he ‘just _adored_ ’ had come on (this Harry did remember, and to this day wanted to know how on earth Malfoy had heard a club remix of Spice Up Your Life prior to actually going to the club). Malfoy dancing was captivating. He seemed to be tuned into the rhythm of the music, moving his body impossibly in time to the songs that played.

Harry wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the beauty of Malfoy on the dancefloor; he’d managed to capture the attention of several women and men dancing around him. It wasn’t until a tall man wound his toned arm around Malfoy’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that Harry really _knew_ how he felt about Malfoy. The knot twisting in his stomach as he saw the, no, a man he was attracted to getting off with someone else stuck with him during the week following their trip to the club.

Harry had gone home alone, Malfoy had left before him.

It had taken Harry a while, and several coffee shop interventions with Hermione and Luna, to realise that he was definitely attracted to both men and women (a year of fumbled handjobs in club loos hadn't been enough to draw any conclusions at the time), but it was far more of a shock to realise he was attracted to Malfoy.

Following this realisation was the extensive number of clubbers Harry found himself fucking, and being fucked by, in the months after. Sex and clubbing, and sometimes pills, filled the space left by Harry’s lack of identity, until it didn’t.

Which is how he’d ended up here, on a Friday night, in a pub with his friends, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t drowning his sorrows into a pint of Guinness.

It was difficult, being Harry Potter.

It was even worse when he had to explain to Hermione why he was feeling so morose, because five pints of various lagers didn’t really give people filters.

“Have you ever just, like, wanted someone _so_ much, but not wanted to ruin what you already have with them?” Harry asked her, trying to stop his words from slurring and failing miserably. “Not, in like, a love way, but like, just really _wanted_ them?”

Hermione smiled at him, almost wistfully. “Yeah, yeah I have.”

Harry let his head fall onto his arms on the table in front of him. “So what did you do, ‘mione?” He groaned.

“Well,” she said, her embarrassment colouring her speech, “I snogged him. And then shagged him when we finally had time after being on the run from a psychopath and his army with our best friend.”

Harry looked up at her with in exasperation. Somehow, someone had let him get drunker than he should be in this state.

“But,  _Hermione_ , that’s _different_ , you and Ron are like, meant to be together, it’s been like some big cosmic sign for you guys since forever.”

Hermione laughed, making Harry sigh _again_.

“That’s not the point, the point is we took a chance, we let it take its course. You should too. I, for one, think that a certain blond someone is definitely more interested in you than he lets on.”

Harry sat up at this, swaying slightly before pointing an accusatory finger at Hermione.

“How do you know about that?”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes, “being more sober than you makes my observational skills better than you think. Plus, you’re always staring each other’s arses when you don’t think the other is looking. Now, go over to him, and ask him to go with you to the loos for a sobering potion, before it’s too late.”

Harry felt like a man possessed. Too drunk to argue with Hermione without nausea taking over, he felt his feet moving him towards Malfoy, his brain’s argument being that whether he and Malfoy ended up hooking up or not, at least he wouldn’t sick up all over his shoes.

Asking Malfoy for the potion while Hermione stared at him from across the table felt like a loss. He did it anyway.

Malfoy leaned closer to Harry, his breath hot with gin and those fruity, sugary cocktails he was so fond of.

“Best go off to the loos, then, yeah? Don’t want any of the muggle lot seeing you, right?”

Harry nodded in agreement, too scared that speaking further would result in his stomach contents ending up on the ugly beige carpet beneath their feet.

Together they navigated the pub to the back, where the two of them checked they were the only two people in the loos before locking the door to avoid any muggles, or worse the bartenders, walking in on them with suspicious bottles of foul-smelling liquid.

Malfoy frowned down at Harry, slightly unsteady on his own feet.

“What’s got you looking like a crup that’s down, Scarhead?”

Harrys nausea rose up within him, threatening to overcome his body’s reflexes, but not before he managed to bark out, “Had a chat with ‘mione, was really, um, illuminating. Gonna need that potion though, before your fancy loafers are covered in whatever was in that pie I ate earlier.” He managed a weak grin when Malfoy’s face scrunched up in disgust before brandishing one of the bottles of his homebrewed sobering potion in Harry’s general direction.

Despite the awful taste, Harry sighed in relief when he realised he wasn’t going to be sick from the drink, before he was met with Malfoy’s smirking face.

“So, Potter, now that you’re halfway to sober, are you going to tell me what Granger said that had you looking like a house elf without a chore to do?”

The problem with sobering potions was that while they were very quick to eliminate the physical problems of being drunk, they took longer to encourage being sober mentally. Apparently. At this point, Harry was just hoping that he’d be able to blame his inhibitions on the words that left his mouth before his brain had a chance to catch up with his body.

“She, um, said you’ve been staring at my arse.” This was one of the many times Harry was grateful for his complexion – had his body given away the fact that heat had risen in his cheeks, he’d never be able to live this down.

Malfoy frowned at him, a slight blush in his cheeks, before he knocked back his own vial of his potion.

“Is that a problem, Potter?” He asked.

Harry breathed in. Now or never, he told himself.

“She said I’d been staring at your arse too, and that we should probably get on with it soon, can you believe?”

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh.

“Surprisingly enough, I can believe that,” he said, stepping forward.

The space between Harry and Malfoy was not very much; though muggle loos had the advantage of hand dryers, they _really_ were lacking in room to move. Malfoy had the ghost of a nervous look on his face, licking his lips. Harry frowned, before closing the space between them.

He felt, rather than heard Malfoy’s gasp of surprise, a quick intake of air before he responded enthusiastically to Harry’s lips on his.

“Been wanting to do this forever,” he panted out, his hands cupping Harry’s arse. “Keep thinking about when that mouth of yours would be good for something other than slagging off my self-indulgence,” he grinned into Harry’s mouth.

Harry groaned, his thigh pressing up against Malfoy’s hardening cock. He broke away from the kiss to nibble at Malfoy’s pale neck.

“Been wanting this for ages too, since I saw you dancing,” Harry said, trying not to let himself get embarrassed over the moan he let out when Malfoy’s wicked fingers curled around the outline of his growing hard-on through his jeans.

Malfoy laughed, before sickeningly slowly lowering himself down until he was kneeling in front of Harry’s crotch.

“Is this okay,” he asked, his fingers already on the zipper, grey eyes blown dark with lust. Harry could only nod at him, scared his mouth would run away with him again and get him out of this situation he’d so awkwardly managed to get into.

He let out a hiss of pleasure at the sensation of Malfoy’s hot breath against his dick. Malfoy took the head into his mouth, his head bobbing up and down as he impossibly took Harry’s cock further and further each time, his nose inching further and further to the curls of dark hair at the base of Harry’s cock. He pulled off with a pop just when Harry was dizzyingly close to coming in the blond’s mouth. Harry looked down at him confused, until Malfoy stood and breathed into his ear, “I wanna fuck you, don’t want you to come until I can feel you around me.”

Harry swallowed at that, before resolutely tucking himself back into his jeans willing his erection down, his traitorous cock thrilled at the friction.

When he’d pulled Malfoy out of the loos, he could _sense_ the childish sniggers of their friends, despite them having not seen them yet.

Malfoy squeezed his hand, “Gotta say bye to Blaise and Pans, they worry.”

“Should probably do the same with Hermione ‘nd Ron,” Harry responded, squeezing his hand back.

Hermione’s knowing look when Harry walked over to hug her spoke volumes.

“So,” she murmured in his ear, “have you guys-”

Harry grinned, “Not yet, but soon, if you quit pestering me,” leaning past her to hug Ron.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, mate,” was all Ron had to offer, his rapport with Malfoy still slightly stilted, despite having moved past house loyalties with the rest of the Slytherins.

Harry smiled. For the first time in years, he knew exactly what he was doing.

***

Malfoy had side-alonged Harry to his apartment, missing the bedroom slightly and ending up in the kitchen. He pushed Harry most of the way, his fingers twisted in the belt loops of Harry’s jeans.

“’M so fucking glad we took those potions, would be so mad if I didn’t get to do this sober,” Malfoy said, against Harry’s mouth, pushing him onto his bed. Harry was _so_ glad he was wearing a plain black tee, and not one of those fancy button-downs Malfoy favoured so.

They fumbled through undressing each other, getting distracted when Harry chose to lick and suck at stripes of skin on Malfoy’s chest, marvelling at the smooth, marble-like quality of it. He inhaled at the sight of Malfoy’s cock, flushed, thick and marvellous, Malfoy’s fingers wrapped tightly around it.

“Turn over.”

Harry swallowed.

“I wanna, wanna watch you fucking me,” he bit out, regretting it for the split-second before Malfoy’s eyes grew impossibly darker as he muttered a spell, slicking up his fingers.

He hissed at the feel of the first finger pressing up inside him, pushing back down on it when Malfoy looked at him.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, Potter,” Malfoy breathed out, “Tight like it’s your first time, so so  _tight_.”

“Give me another.” Harry demanded.

Malfoy obliged, stretching Harry open. Harry felt a third ready to push into him, before he shook his head.

“’S enough,” he breathed, “wanna feel it.”

Malfoy muttered a stream of expletives that Harry couldn’t catch, before slicking up his cock.

Harry loved getting fucked. The initial sting of pain of having a cock in your arse, mellowing into pleasure was an unrivalled feeling in Harry’s opinion. There was _something_ about the rawness of being well-fucked that Harry just loved. Had he not already been hard, the first thrust of Malfoy’s cock deep inside of him would have done it.

Malfoy’s hard and fast thrusts coupled with his own hand pulling himself off sent Harry over the edge almost embarrassingly quick. If he hadn’t felt Malfoy reaching his own climax a mere few seconds after, he definitely would have been embarrassed. It was more embarrassing, he thought, that he was overcome by an urge to lean back against Malfoy’s strong, lean chest.

He shifted slightly away, before feeling Malfoy’s hot, heavy hand on his belly.

“Not so fast, Scarhead,” he murmured, “gotta get more secrets out of you first.”

Harry grinned, moving back in against Malfoy’s warm body. Malfoy gave him such a _look_ Harry just _had_ to swing his leg over Malfoy’s hips and straddle him.

“Easy there, tiger,” Malfoy laughed, “I won’t be ready to go again for a few minutes yet.”

Harry grinned.

“’S okay, just wanted to kiss you,” he said, tangling his hands in Malfoy’s impossibly soft hair.

Malfoy’s teeth had just been on Harry’s neck, and were dragging themselves along his chest when he asked, “What does this one mean?”

Harry knew which tattoo Malfoy was referring to, simple dark lettering hallway between his collarbone and nipple. “આત્મા,” Harry said, “is the Gujarati spelling of ‘soul’. It’s to remind me that my soul is mine, even though most of my life leading up to now I was one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

Malfoy’s fingers traced the letters. “It’s so pretty, do you speak the language?”

Harry smiled at Malfoy, playing with his hair.

“I’ve been trying to; it’s one of the only things I have left of my dad. I never even knew he could speak Gujarati, until I read one of my godfather’s journals, detailing the numerous times my dad had tried to teach his friends words and spells that he didn’t know the Latin of.”

Malfoy pressed a kiss to Harry’s jaw.

“Teach me someday,” he lazily drawled, “your soul’s starting to interest me as much as your body.”

Harry’s laughter echoed around the room before he spent the weekend getting thoroughly shagged by Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this! In case anyone would like to know how to pronounce આત્મા, it's aat-mah. For all who may doubt that you can dance to Spice Up Your Life - you should give the Morales radio mix of it a listen. Comments/feedback/kudos are always super appreciated! :)


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